


Empty

by London_Halcyon



Series: Origin of a Mad Witch [4]
Category: Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery (Video Game)
Genre: Absent Parents, Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Headcanon, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Recovery, Threats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-11-02 02:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/London_Halcyon/pseuds/London_Halcyon
Summary: Since her parents were arrested, Merula has spent every summer alone in the Snyde Manor, rarely daring to leave the house. Normally, these long months are boring and restless, but this summer is different from the rest. That is not a good thing.(Roughly takes place between Years 5 and 6, but that may change.)





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> Another rediscovery from my notebook that I started over the summer (coincidentally while staying alone in my aunt's house for several weeks).

Merula sighed in irritation as she looked at the food laid across the kitchen counter. There was half an onion, two bruised apples, a can of beans, a third of a loaf of bread, a moldy bit of cheese, and a near empty jar of jam. She checked another cabinet: several boxes of old tea and a tin of stale biscuits. Frustrated, she shoved  _ Cooking the Muggle Way  _ away from her, and the book slid off the counter and onto the floor with a thud. It looked like she would be having some sort of creative and probably gross sandwich for dinner that night. That would last her, what? Another two days? Maybe a week if she really stretched it. 

Less than a week and then she would be living off of tea. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about cooking. 

She groaned, the sound echoing off the walls as she stalked in the direction of the library. Her aunt would be by any day now with groceries as promised. She just had to wait patiently like a good girl...as promised. 

In the library, where hundreds of shelves stretched from the floor to the ceiling, she traced her fingers along the book spines as she circled the room, touching but not taking. She had read every book her hand connected with, from modern novels to ancient histories, although the latter had been more out of boredom than any true interest. In fact, she had read nearly every book in the room—all except the volumes on the upper shelves of course. They could only be reached by magic, or a ladder, and that had probably been her parents’ intention. 

These books were different from the rest. Their worn leather-bound covers were dustier, older, and in some unexplainable way, darker. Her father had left one sitting on his desk in the corner of the room once, and it had bitten her when she had tried to open it. Bitten—as in with actual teeth that had drawn blood. Her mother had scolded him first for not putting the book away and then her next for touching it when she knew she had been forbidden to. She had threatened to cast a spell to keep Merula out of the library if something like that happened again...which is why Merula lied about how she had broken her arm a few weeks later. 

She had told her parents it had been from falling out of the big tree in the garden. In reality, she had fallen while climbing the bookshelves—which she had practiced for by climbing the tree in the garden. She had actually made it to the top shelves, but the first book she had attempted to remove screamed at her, causing her to lose her grip and crash to the ground. Her mother clearly hadn’t believed her story after she’d come limping into the parlor, but there were so many places were Merula could have gotten into trouble that her mother couldn’t narrow it down or ban her from all of them. 

Merula had avoided those books since her parents had been arrested. The last time she had attempted to read one in hopes of learning a new spell or two that her classmates didn’t know (using a ladder this time), she had felt physically ill within seconds of touching the icy leather spine. She had decided after that that there were some lengths even she wouldn’t go to to get an edge on everyone else. 

Moving away from the shelves, she ran her fingers over the velvety surface of her favorite reading chair, which was partially tucked away in its own little nook but was still in sight of her father’s desk. Her own, much smaller collection of books was piled around the chair, most of which were from Flourish and Blotts. She picked her latest purchase off the comfy seat and flipped through the pages without reading anything. She had finished it a week ago, and while it had been a temporarily decent way to pass the time, she didn’t feel like reading it again.

She barely glanced at the desk where all her school books sat, as well as her already completed summer essays. She had rewritten and reread every one of them twice before the first month of break had ended; there was no point in reading through them again. They were perfect. 

This room, which often served as her sanctuary, currently offered nothing but agitation and suffocation. She paced back and forth as blood and adrenaline rushed to her limbs without direction, and the stale, dusty air suddenly threatened to choke her. Quickly deciding she needed air, she all but sprinted to the parlor and threw open the glass doors to the garden. The dark wood of the veranda was warm against her bare feet after the heat of the day, and the black metal railing threatened to burn her hands as she gripped it, white-knuckled. The breeze was cool as it moved from afternoon into evening, and it gently rattled leaves and tousled her already messy hair. She lengthened her breaths, focusing on the wind. 

Not again. Idleness really would drive her insane this summer if she didn’t find something to do. She could try taming the garden again…

A reflexive scoff left her chest at the thought. She had attempted multiple times over the years and had failed at each one. The flowers had died within weeks off falling into her care, and all new ones refused to grow. That wasn’t the problem with the weeds and bushes, which swarmed and persisted no matter how many she pulled or cut back. Ivy in particular blanketed and strangled everything. The stone path that wove through all the plants was barely visible and was impossible to walk along, and if she recalled correctly, there was a fountain and a bench or two that had drowned in there as well. 

She could see her old oak, which stood taller and thicker than the rest of the plants, but she couldn’t reach it on foot. It appeared to be doing okay on its own, although that was probably the reason why. Apparently she couldn’t keep good things alive.

Not that it was her fault. That trait was hereditary. 

She tugged up the sleeves of her hoodie as she adjusted to the outdoor temperature. In spite of it being the middle of summer, the house remained as freezing as always, even with all the fireplaces going at once. Maybe she should attempt to cut some of the ivy away from the windows afterall. 

A grating screech dragged her out of her thoughts and pulled her gaze to a dark speck in descent, and she raised her arm for her aunt’s hawk owl to land. Pietro squeezed her arm with his sharp talons and let her take the letter from his leg with a proud trill. She shifted his warm body to her shoulder so she could read what it said:

_ Merula, _

_ I have been called to an emergency conference in Berlin. I leave tonight and will not be able to bring you groceries. You will need to go shopping on your own. I know you hate leaving the house, but you are almost of age. If you cannot become comfortable completing such a simple task, then you can never hope to function—or be treated as—a full witch. If you need to contact me for some unavoidable reason, I will be staying _

Merula crumpled up the parchment in anger and dismay. Translation: “You’re a big girl. You can get your own food.” That was great. That was just bloody wonderful. She would be living off of tea for the rest of her now very short life. 

She stormed inside, slamming the doors behind her and startling Pietro off her shoulder. He flew to his perch in the parlor and ruffled his feathers in annoyance as she resumed pacing. There were two options. Tomorrow morning, she could take a Muggle bus to the nearest town and find a store there, or she could take the Floo Network to Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley would involve a bit of a walk to a store that actually sold groceries, but if she went there she could get a new book from Flourish and Blotts. That would almost make the trip worth it. 

The thought calmed her enough that she finally sat down on the sofa. Okay, she would head to Diagon Alley in the morning. It would be crowded and nothing would happen there. It would be fine. Everything would be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is now on indefinite hiatus because I have neither the time nor the sanity to work out where the plot is supposed to go. If I can get some of my major projects out of the way, then I may come back to it. Until then, it can be treated as a headcanon for what Merula's house is like.


End file.
